(4/13) Battles at Thrush Green
it.
    'Must be all of eight years,' announced Betty, coming to life again and attacking the mantelpiece.
    'And this box is absolutely chocker with bits she's cut out of newspapers. One of 'em was over twenty years old! Think of that! I'm telling you!'
    'I know you are,' said Harold patiently.
    'Well, at last I got her to let me sort it out, only we didn't get far. Know why?'
    'No.'
    'There was a mouse's nest down the bottom.'
    'Good heavens!' exclaimed Harold.
    'Not a modern one,' said Betty comfortingly. 'A proper broken down old thing it was – no babies or that! But still, a nest, and all made of chewed up paper. Quite pretty really. Miss Harmer was all for taking it into the village school for the children to see but I said not. I could just see Miss Watson's face if Miss Harmer took that thing out and sprinkled mouse confetti all over the floor. Besides, it's me that has to clear it up.'
    'What's this got to do with the car?'
    'Only that she told me while we made a bonfire of all the kitchen muck. Her brother's left her his car and she's going to get it on Friday.'
    'I didn't know she drove.'
    'She don't. At least, she hasn't for donkey's years. We all used to rush up into the hedge when we was kids if old Dot – I mean Miss Harmer – was coming.'
    'I expect someone will drive her back,' said Harold, anxious to get to grips with The Times crossword. A swift glance had shown him that 'dairy cats' could easily be turned into 'caryatids' at 6 across.
    'Rather them than me!' replied his help. 'Not that there'll be any need. She's driving it herself.'
    'Good Lord!' exclaimed Harold, suitably shaken, and made his escape.

    By the time night fell upon Thrush Green, Dotty's news was common knowledge, and consternation was rife.
    Doctor Lovell, Doctor Bailey's young assistant, told his wife Ruth about the projected trip by one of his more difficult patients.
    'But she's a perfect menace !' cried Ruth. 'She once took Joan and me to a fête, and I wonder we ever got back alive. How father and mother ever came to give her permission, I can't think. We were about ten and eight, I suppose. I had nightmares for weeks afterwards.'
    'She certainly hasn't driven since I came here,' said her husband. 'Do you think you could offer to drive the car back?'
    'With Dotty in it? Panting to get her hands on the wheel? You don't know what you're asking,' cried Ruth with spirit. 'And the answer is a resounding "No!"'
    Doctor Bailey shook his tired old head when Winnie told him about Dotty's car.
    'The same angel that guards drunkards will guard Dotty,' he told her, smiling.
    'It's other people I'm thinking of retorted Winnie.
    At the rectory, Charles had telephoned to Connie at Friars-combe and put forward the fears of all at Thrush Green. The reply was not very satisfactory.
    'I'll do my best,' said the distant voice, 'but you know Aunt Dot.'
    Sadly, the rector agreed that he did indeed.
    He put down the telephone and turned to his wife.
    'One last hope – Ella,' he said. 'She drives, and she can sometimes persuade Dotty to do things when other people have failed.'
    'I'll go over tomorrow morning,' promised Dimity.
    She found her old friend in the garden. Ella was picking runner beans, and successfully trampling upon a row of carrots next in line.
    'They'll survive,' was her answer to Dimity's protests. 'Want some beans? Enough here to feed an army. All or nothing with runners, isn't it?'
    'I'd love some. I'll pick them.'
    'No, you won't. There's ample in the basket.'
    She led the way back to the path stepping from carrot fronds to shallots and then on to the onion row. Dimity, wincing, picked her way after her.
    Ella sat down heavily on the wooden seat by the back door, and began to remove her muddy shoes. Dimity sat beside her. The sun was already warm and she thought, yet again, what a wonderfully pleasant place the old cottage garden was. There was no such sheltered spot across at the rectory. She chided herself for disloyalty, and turned to
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